A Father & Daughter Dispute
by uniabocetaP
Summary: Tilda wants to be in fashion, but her father has another opinion. One-Shot. (Edited)


_**A/N: Story has been edited. I have to thank Rianiel, who offered to beta this story for me. Thank you! Go and check her story "****The Blackbird and the Bowman" about Bard/OC.**_

_******Italics are for thoughts.**_

* * *

Bard looked up as the door of his office slid open. He looked up to see his seventeen year old daughter Tilda, enter the room. He guessed she had been outside for her face was flushed and she was holding her long blue cape around tightly about her slim shoulders. Judging by her large smile, something delightful had happened and knowing well the character of his children, he had a pretty good inkling of what would make his dearest Tilda have a skip in her step.

"Da!" she said, running across the room. When she reached him she sat on his lap and planted a kiss on his chick in front of his advisors. Even though Bard had been King of Dale for nearly ten years now, Tilda never ceased greeting him like she did when he was a simple Bargeman.

"Hello there, my dearest. Can I help you with something? I have a meeting with King Dain and his wife in about an hour..."

"You do? Oh I am terribly sorry for disturbing you Da but I wanted to show what I bought for the midsummer feast!"

Bard sighed. He signalled for his advisors to leave. All of them exited the room with a simple nod of their heads, except Bain who sat in a chair on the other side of his father's desk. When the last of the advisors filed out, Tilda leapt to her feet and removed her cape with a flourish.

Bard cast a side-long look while she walked up and down the room with a wide grin. Recognizing the dark look clouding his father's face, Bain stifled a laugh and braced himself for the oncoming barrage of high disapproval.

"No" he said simply.

The smile vanished from Tilda's beautiful face. "Why not, Da?"

"Because I said so."

"But why?"

"I do not like it."

"Why, Da?" Tilda persisted and Bain wondered whether she asked such silly questions on purpose. In truth, the dress was exquisite. It was red with a yellow ribbon tied around her waist. Along the neckline it revealed her lily-white shoulders, flattering her chest in a fashionable cut. In fact, it flattered it way too much.

"This is not an appropriate dress for Lady," answered Bard sternly. "It is too extravagant for your age. I will not permit you to wear it ... under no circumstances."

"But Da, this is the fashion these days!" Tilda disagreed earnestly. "All the Ladies of the court are wearing this type of dress."

Bard knew this to be true. A lot of the young Ladies favoured long necklines which exposed their bosoms, much to the delight of young men.

"My decision is final," the King repeated in a tone that would not permit any further discussion. Had this disagreement been with one of his advisors, they would have bowed respectfully and left the room in defeat but not Tilda.

Her lower lip was trembling. "You don't understand! Everybody is going to wear something like that! I will be the only one different!"

"Yes and you will be the only respectable lady in the room," said Bard testily.

"But nobody will pay attention to me, Da! No man will look at me and think I'm beautiful! The men of the court will look at the other girls and they will dance with all the other girls and I will be alone and totally unnoticed!" Tears were now spilling down her cheeks, while Bard stared awestruck at her outburst. When he failed to speak, Tilda gave a small sob and left the room in a flurry of skirts.

"You will not wear that dress!" he yelled at her retreating back. "Return it! Today!"

Silence fell in the room from her departure. Bard was grim again; he was contemplating how hard it was to raise girls these days. Bain coughed and interrupted his thoughts.

"Da, I know what you are thinking, but you have to understand..."

"What is there to understand, Bain? That dress is completely inappropriate for a lady of her stature. I don't like it and she won't wear it. End of story."

He rose from his chair and Bain knew that his father was adamant on the subject. It was no good trying to contradict him now. He would never agree to reach middle ground while he was still angry. Moreover, he was not the person to do it. He knew exactly the right person for that job.

* * *

Later that evening Bard was again seated behind his desk. He looked up as a light knock came from the door.

"Come in," he said and his eldest daughter, Sigrid, entered the room.

"Sigrid! What a pleasant surprise!" he exclaimed, moving to help her sit. Sigrid, at the age of twenty-two, was married and expecting her first child. Now she was on the last trimester of her pregnancy and found even the simplest of tasks a challenge. When they were both settled, Bard asked a servant to bring some tea and wine. They chattered for a while, exchanging news.

"I heard that you had a ... disagreement with Tilda." Sigrid dared say to her father after a while.

"Well, it was more of a fight."

"So I heard, Da". She looked at him. There was a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"News travel fast, it seems," replied Bard, eyeing his eldest curiously. It was obvious that the reason behind her visit was to act as an intermediate between him and Tilda. "Who told you? Was it Bain?"

"Yes. He came earlier today and told me that Tilda would not cease crying and that you were roaring like Smaug the Dragon." Bard opened his mouth to disagree, but Sigrid raised her hand to stop him. She continued "The result is that you are both terrorizing the whole household. Do you not think that you should do something? Talk to her, perhaps?"

"Why me?" said Bard with a look on his face that was a more appropriate expression of a five year olds' than of a King.

"Because you are our father … a kind and wise one … and you love your children above all other."

"Sigrid," said the king,"flattery will not work on me. I am not going to change my opinion about that hideous dress!"

"Of course not, Da!" exclaimed Sigrid._ How clueless can men be sometimes!_ But she kept the thought to herself. Instead she explained "What I want to say is that you ought to go and comfort her, understand what she has to say and find middle ground."

"Middle ground?" the king seemed completely baffled "Like when we negotiate with foreign embassies? You mean to reach a mutual agreement?"

"Exactly! Middle Ground, mutual agreement or whatever you call it with Bain."

"What do you propose?" he asked and she begun explaining her plan to him.

* * *

An hour later Bard was nervously knocking on Tilda's door.

"Who is it?" she asked, her voice muffled and thick with tears.

Without awaiting permission he opened the door and peeked inside. She was sprawled upon the bed and crying into her pillow. "It's me ...your Da"

"Go away!" she cried but Bard chose to ignore her wish. He entered the room and closed the door behind him, approaching the bed with caution. During his life, he had found out that upset teenage girls were more dangerous than sleeping dragons.

"Tilda, dearest" he said in the most soothing voice he could muster. "Can we talk?"

"No!"

"Please?"

"No!"

"Can I talk?" he asked while he begun rubbing her back to calm her down.

"No?" She sounded uncertain. Good...she hasn't kicked me out yet._ Now is my chance_, he thought and ignored her wish once more. He began talking.

"My dearest Tilda, you know that I love you and that I have always strived to provide you with the best I could manage our whole lives. How is it possible to think that I would want do something bad for you? Or that I would not protect you? That I don't love you?"

"No, Da!" She turned to face him, hugging her pillow tight. Her delicate face was stained with tears ."I don't believe any of that … you … I … I just want to be beautiful! And I want to have many admirers like Sigrid had! And you don't seem to understand! I am not a baby anymore!"

"I know that," Bard replied gently, stroking her golden hair. "You are becoming a woman and it is only logical you want to hold the attention and awe of young men. But you have to understand that we, fathers, don't like to think our little girls as grown women. For us you are always our little girls, whom we used to gift dolls with straw hair." Tilda smiled at the thought of the doll her father had given to her many years ago, when they lived in Esgaroth. "So, sometimes we forget to act accordingly". He lifted her chin up and looked into her eyes. "Will you forgive me?"

"Oh...Da! I do!" She threw her pillow aside and hugged him tightly. "Of course I do! I love you Da!"

"I love you, too" Bard replied, hugging her back.

"Now that you are not mad to me anymore, we have to discuss about what you shall wear to the ball," said Bard, drawing apart from Tilda whose smile had vanished.

"I guess the dress must go?" she sighed, looking towards the chair to where it was laid.

"Yes"

"Definitely?" she asked, giving him a look which she had perfected in getting her own way. Most of the time she did.

"Definitely," he confirmed.

"Very well," she said and sadness crept into her eyes again. Bard's heart ached to see his youngest daughter so sad, but as her father he had to what was best.

"How does this sound? Tomorrow we will go to the market. Sigrid has told me about a very capable young seamstress who is always willing to try new ideas. I will buy a you a dress that is both beautiful and proper."

"Oh Da!" she cried, flinging her arms around his neck a second time. "Can you promise me that I will be beautiful?"

"Of course. You are always beautiful."

"And are you sure it will be fashionable? I'm scared people with laugh at me! What will happen if the dress goes out of fashion?" Tilda continued, expressing fears that every girl of her age had. Bard raised a hand to stem her flow of questions.

"Of course they won't, I will punish them if they do. And it won't be out of fashion. You could even start a new fashion," Bard replied, instantly regretting the last few words._ What was the fuss about whether a dress was a different colour or not? Did it truly matter whether a hemline was trimmed with lace or silk?_ He gritted his teeth.

"Can I?" she asked, eyes shining hopefully.

"If a princess can't set tendencies, then who can?"

Tilda smiled shyly and Bard returned it.

"Shall I put you to bed? Like when you were a little girl?"

"OK." She moved away from the bed and entered the adjacent room to wash and change into her nightgown. After five minutes she was tucked into her bed. Bard leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "Goodnight, dearest."

"Goodnight, Da". He blew out the candles and moved to the door.

"Da?"

"Yes?"

"It was Sigrid's idea, wasn't it? The new dress and everything."

"Yes"

"I thought so."

Bard closed the door behind him and walked towards his own room. A smile appeared on his usually grim face. His daughters would be his undoing one day, he was sure of it.

* * *

**_Reviews are welcome! They can help improve :)_**

**_Thanks for reading._**


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